by J A Mawter
It is the longest 500 metres.
Sheer agony.
‘Cause no matter how hard you try to avoid it, you still have to breathe.
Chapter Five
‘The only piker we’ve got for the Pollen Tree Cup is Toby.’ Lowie makes the announcement after dinner. ‘It’s our last night,’ continues Lowie. ‘I vote he’s out of the challenge.’
I’m stunned. I look around, appealing to my friends. ‘We never set a time limit.’
There’s no support there.
Laura’s not doing it easy. She’s sitting like a trussed-up pig. Must be up to upside-down-back-to-front-and-inside-out.
And Andy is second cousin to the Michelin tyre man. He tries to look tough by giving me the hairy eyeball and crossing his arms, but he fails. His upper arms are now so fat that they refuse to anchor. They float up, reinforcing the fact that he is only good down wind.
Jonnie’s only good down wind, too, but for completely different reasons. His insides must be starting to fester. He’s all bloated and has stopped eating. He says he’s run out of room. I reckon if you pricked his tummy he’d soar on a jet-propelled fart.
And Lowie?
Lowie’s already scratching his name on the Pollen Tree Cup. ‘Ya wuss-bag,’ he says again, this time kerthumping me on the back.
‘I got the hardest challenge out of everyone,’
I say.
Loud guttural noises follow my remark. ‘It’s true.’
‘My undies have cut off all the circulation,’ growls Laura, with emphasis on each word. ‘My bum’s so numb I’m legless.’
‘That’s nothing,’ says Andy, pointing to his own bottom. ‘I’m so dirty I’ve got gravel rash of the crack. And between my toes. And under my arms.’
‘Well, you guys don’t live in a force-field like I do,’ accuses Jonnie. ‘It’s deadly. Face it, Toby. You’re a piker.’
‘My challenge is the worst,’ I repeat, but deep down I know it’s not.
‘What do you think?’ Lowie asks our group. ‘Should Toby be in, or out?’
‘None of us have choked,’ Laura points out.
‘We ‘re not wimps,’ agrees Andy, scratching under his arms like a hairy gorilla.
‘Yeah,’ says Jonnie, slamming his fist in his hand and triggering an explosion. He grabs his bum and gasps, ‘Fartleberry!’
I feel sorry for the guy. He really is doing it hard.
‘You can die from my challenge,’ I say. ‘Air poisoning.’
Just then Cordelia Foxheart walks in. I ignore her and continue, ‘I promise I’ll do it. I promise I’ll get Miss Reynolds tonight!’
‘Get Miss Reynolds? What?’ asks Cordelia, with a sneer. She reminds me of a wolf. ‘Get more of her underwear, you mean?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. What would I want with abra?’
Cordelia laughs. I can see her fangs. She’d make a good werewolf. ‘I hear they’re really daring! Brief enough to make a pretty sling shot. It’s the elastic, you know.’ She delves in under her shirt, stretching out her bra strap to demonstrate.
‘Show someone who’s interested,’ I say, rolling my eyes.
Cordelia grows a snout and barks, ‘If you want Miss Reynolds she’s in the storeroom.’ And just like that, she walks out.
‘Perfect,’ I say, getting up. ‘I’ll see Miss Reynolds now.’
Lowie stands, too. ‘May as well come — for the laugh. Besides, I want proof. Anyone else coming?’
The rest shake their heads. They are unable to move.
Lowie and I hurry out. When we get close to the storeroom it is pitch black. There’s not even a light on.
‘I’ll stay outside,’ says Lowie, slipping in behind a giant wheelie bin, ‘and keep watch. Once you’re in I’ll take a squiz through the window, okay?’ His punch gives me a dead arm. ‘Lay one on her, lover boy,’ he says with a chuckle.
I shrug and whisper, ‘Yeah, sure,’ then wonder why I’m whispering. I walk up to the door, but slowly, and knock.
No answer.
In the still night air I can hear singing. It’s faint and seems to be coming from inside.
‘Miss Reynolds,’ I call, then louder, ‘Miss Reynolds!’
The singing continues.
I stand there, not sure what to do. ‘Miss Reynolds!’ I’m almost shouting. I look to see if anyone else is around. There’s Lowie, pulling a face like his lips have got stuck in a linen press, but that’s all.
I turn back to the door, my heart pounding. I want this over as quickly as possible.
I hear a ‘clunk’ inside. My pulse rises from a scamper to a full-on gallop. I’m beginning to wonder if I should be here.
Clunk. Screeeeech. Clunk. It takes a moment to realise it’s the sound of my own heart.
Suddenly, the singing stops.
The hairs on my neck stand up to match the hairs on my head. I put my mouth to the keyhole and in a stage whisper I ask, ‘Miss Reynolds? Are you all right?’
Silence.
A rustle behind sends me whirling around. I almost fall off the step. Phew! It’s only leaves in the wind. The last time I remember being this scared was when I was a kid and thought there was a monster under my bed. My skin prickles, then smoulders at the same time. I shiver.
I’ll only try once more, I say to myself, turning back to the door.
Tap, tap, tap.
This time the door opens.
I look up, hoping to find the cheery face of Miss Reynolds. There’s nobody there.
‘Hello-o-o-o,’ I say in a quivery voice.
And then at last, an answer, ‘In here!’
I turn and can just make out the dim outline of Lowie. I give him the finger and go inside.
It’s dark and I have to flick on the light. The globe is really weak, the pool of light reaching only as far as the first stack of shelves. I see reams of loo paper — the recycled sort. The sort that makes you wonder what the scratchy bits are.
There is no Miss Reynolds.
‘Out the back!’
I should wait for her to come to me, but I don’t. I’m desperate to get this over with.
‘Coming!’ I call, striding down the aisle.
First I see black. Then I see red. A thousand lights pop off in my head.
Chapter Six
Black is because it’s dark.
Red is because I’m smothered by something warm and furry.
The popping lights are from a camera.
‘Gotcha!’ Cordelia Foxheart looms large from behind the door. ‘Surprise!’ she yells, lightbulb flashing. ‘I told you you’d pay for coming on to me like that. I told you I’ve got guts.’
It is then I realise that I am wearing Miss Reynolds’s fox-print undies on my head. The ones that have gone missing. Thank goodness I’m not wearing the bra.
Cordelia is click-click-clicking like there’s no tomorrow, her camera spewing out instant photos.
I wrench the undies off, yelling, ‘Get lost!’ and trying to cover my face.
‘Wait till I show these to Miss Reynolds,’ crows Cordelia, waving the photos. ‘Won’t you be in for it!’
I want to smash her face, but snatch at the camera instead. We tussle. The bulb continues to flash. Cordelia sidesteps and takes off down the aisle. She beats me to the door.
‘Catch her!’ I scream at Lowie. He’s just standing there, watching Cordelia whiz past.
Lowie does a flying tackle. He’s a good mate, Lowie.
He misses.
‘She set me up!’ I screech, running after Cordelia at full pelt. ‘To make Miss Reynolds think I stole her stuff!’
We lose her. Cordelia’s done a Houdini. We don’t know where she is. Probably waving the photos under Miss Reynolds’s nose.
Andy and Laura rock up. Jonnie’s coming behind. With each step he fffwhooshes like a balloon that’s sprung a leak. I get a rotten-egg headrush.
‘What’s happening?’ asks Laura, readjusting her undies for the umpteenth time.
&nb
sp; I tell them how Cordelia set me up and how Miss Reynolds will be coming for me any moment. Maybe even call the police.
‘But why?’ asks Lowie.
I shrug, saying, ‘She says it’s because I came on to her. I’ll bet it’s because she wants to prove she’s tough.’
‘It’s gotta be more than that,’ says Andy, flinging an arm round my shoulders. His armpit is brewing something awful but I don’t want to pull away and offend him. ‘I know! She wants the cup!’
Always the practical one, Laura interrupts. ‘We have to prove that Toby’s innocent.’
‘But how?’ asks Lowie. ‘We don’t have proof that Cordelia stole the underwear.’
We stand around in silence, thinking of what to do.
I go over the scene in the storeroom. ‘I need to retrace my steps,’ I mumble out loud. ‘Sift through everything in my mind.’
I go over day one when I first crossed paths with Cordelia. I go over Miss Reynolds making the stolen underwear announcement. I think of the walk — and cringe. Then there was the conversation in the dining room. The dining room!
‘I’ve got it,’ I shout. ‘I’ve got the proof.’ I turn to my friends. ‘I’m going to get Cordelia and you guys are going to help me. Here’s what we’re going to do …’
I look around the crowded dining room, surprised that we managed to get everyone together so soon.
The only ones missing are Miss Reynolds and Cordelia. I’ve sent Laura to get them. The door flings open and they pour in.
Miss Reynolds has a wad of photos in her hand and a look of thunder on her face. ‘Toby!’ she roars. ‘I want a word with you.’
I tweak my right ear, my secret signal to let everyone know to get ready.
‘Yes, Miss Reynolds,’ I say.
She storms up to the front of the room. ‘You’re the thief! Cordelia’s shown me the evidence.’
If Cordelia smiled any wider her jaw would drop off.
I should be upset but I’m not. ‘Cordelia set me up.’
There is a sharp intake of breath from Miss Reynolds.
It’s so nice not to have to duck.
Cordelia’s lips slam like a clam. ‘The camera never lies,’ she says, forcing the words out.
‘No,’ I say, ‘but you do.’
The clam springs open. ‘I do not. You had the knickers. I saw them with my own eyes.’
‘But you stole them. You had them first!’ I say. ‘Long before you tricked me.’
‘Now, Toby,’ interrupts Miss Reynolds, waving the photos at me. ‘It looks like an open and shut case.’
‘We’ll see about that!’ I say. I walk up to Cordelia, trying to act like a detective. ‘If you’re so innocent, would you agree to answering a few questions? Sort of like taking a lie-detector test?’
Miss Reynolds is frowning. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Toby,’ she says.
‘I don’t mind,’ interrupts Cordelia. She turns to Miss Reynolds and titters, ‘I can do anything I set my mind to!’
I look at Miss Reynolds and wait. ‘All right,’ she finally says.
I try not to look too confident now everything’s going to plan. I turn to my friends, gesturing for them to come forward. They line up in front of the room, Laura first.
‘Go ahead, Laura,’ I say. ‘Ask your question.’
Laura clears her throat then starts. ‘Cordelia. Would you, um, ever wear the same pair of undies, um, two days in a row?’
Cordelia cackles. ‘Definitely not! I’m not as revolting as some.’ She pointedly looks at Laura.
Laura starts to squirm.
‘I only wear clean undergarments!’ hisses Cordelia. ‘And I only wear the best!’
I smile. That last line was a beauty. ‘Thank you, Laura,’ I say. ‘Next!’ We move down to Andy.
‘Whew!’ says Andy, and starts taking off his T-shirts. ‘Isn’t it hot in here?’
One, two, three, four. It’s been a long time since his last bath. With each T-shirt the air in the room shrivels a little.
‘Your question,’ I call.
Andy’s down to his last T-shirt. It is, was, a white one. There’s cereal caked on the front and brown patches creeping under each arm. Slowly, he puts his hands behind his head. Quickly, we all take a step back.
‘I’d like to give you or Toby a hug,’ Andy says to Cordelia. ‘The one who’s telling the truth. Is that you?’ He leans towards Cordelia, arms outstretched.
‘No!’ shrieks Cordelia, pushing him away.
This lie-detector test is going better than I thought. ‘Aha!’ I say. ‘A confession!’
‘Foul play!’ yells Cordelia. ‘I am telling the truth. But I won’t hug stinky Andy to prove it.’
‘I’m not sure about this, Toby,’ interjects Miss Reynolds. ‘Maybe you should stop.’
‘Please let me go on?’ I plead.
‘I don’t mind,’ Cordelia says to Miss Reynolds. ‘So far, Toby’s proved nothing.’
‘One more question,’ cautions Miss Reynolds. ‘And then we do it my way and call the police.’
I nod, looking at Lowie and Jonnie. Which one should I choose? Lowie’s wearing a pick-me sort of face and Jonnie’s standing as tall as his gut-ache will let him.
‘Lowie,’ I say.
Lowie goes to fling his arm around Cordelia’s shoulders but his fingers slip under the neckline of her top. He yanks and it slides off her shoulder …
‘One fox-print bra strap!’ I announce.
Cordelia pulls away, but not before we all cop an eyeful. She screams.
Lowie has that effect on girls.
Cordelia goes to take off but Jonnie grabs her. They wrestle. Jonnie’s trying his hardest to hold her. It’s not easy when he’s so weak. Cordelia swings away, but Laura’s close enough to trip her. Cordelia falls, with Jonnie landing beside her.
Jonnie’s eyes spring open. ‘I think I’m going to blow!’ he cries.
Seven days of build-up can’t be stopped.
First there’s an explosion, a wet and sloppy explosion like a bomb going off underwater.
Then it starts … With a trickle, a drizzle, then a gusher of a fart.
Cordelia screams, again. She scrambles out of the way.
But Andy can’t stop. He’s like a balloon bursting. The air turns vicious.
‘Aaagh!’ yells Cordelia, horror etched all over her face.
I’m gobsmacked — speechless. How can one body hold so much wind? People are putting their hands over their faces. There’s a stampede to get out.
Miss Reynolds is screaming at Jonnie to stop.
‘Can’t,’ Jonnie gasps. Big veins are bulging on his forehead. His eyes look permanently startled. Every time he moves he squishes.
‘Okay!’ yells Cordelia. ‘I confess! I took the stuff!’
Silence fills the room.
Even Jonnie stops.
Cordelia shoves Jonnie as far away from her as possible. She clambers to her feet. ‘I did it!’ she screams to Miss Reynolds. ‘I stole your underwear.’
‘You did?’ asks Miss Reynolds, her face white.
‘She did,’ I say with a grin. ‘Lie-detectors never
lie.’
‘But why?’ demands Miss Reynolds.
‘Because I have leopard-print lingerie and tiger-print lingerie,’ says Cordelia, ‘but I don’t have fox!’ Miss Reynolds looks at me. ‘And because it was my dare for the Pollen Tree Cup.’
I take a step towards Miss Reynolds. ‘It’s a challenge we’re having,’ I explain, ‘to win a cup.’
Lowie pulls it out of his pocket and sheepishly holds it up.
‘The Pollen Tree Cup,’ we all say.
Cordelia looks at me and says, ‘Which I win!’
Slowly Miss Reynolds smiles. What happens next is the best. ‘I misjudged you, Toby. I’m sorry.’ And with that she leans over and gives me a hug.
I give her a kiss in return.
Not a full throttle tonguey job. Just a little peck on the cheek.
; Compared to Jonnie her breath doesn’t smell at all.
I feel great. I have won my challenge!
The Work of Art
Chapter One
‘Today ve draw still life!’ announced Miss Alperstein, Arthur’s teacher, handing white sheets of paper around the class. ‘To start vis, ve vill not use a model. Ve vill use our … imaginations!’
Great! thought Arthur, who was eager to begin.
‘I vant you to shut your eyes. I vill describe ze object. See if you can vork out vot ve vill draw.’
Arthur closed his eyes, wondering what it might
be.
‘Ze sing you vill draw is round.’
Arthur’s favourite things leapt to mind. Pizza, pancakes, biscuits.
‘It is round and firm.’
Must be a biscuit, thought Arthur.
‘It is round and firm,’ repeated Miss Alperstein, ‘and it starts off v-e-e-ry small. It zen grows and grows.’
Biscuits don’t grow!
Arthur searched his mind for something that grew, something round and firm. Nothing came up. Just then, Arthur was distracted by Alison Grant’s sneezing. It wasn’t hard for Alison Grant to distract Arthur. With her long red hair and dimples, she was eminently distracting. Arthur particularly liked her skin. Unlike his, it was perfect. There was not a blemish on her.
Miss Alperstein droned on. ‘Sometimes zey grow in pairs.’
Arthur thought of Alison Grant. She had something that grew in pairs! He bolted upright in his chair. His breath grew shallow.
‘Zere is a bumpy bit on ze end.’
Arthur gulped. Beads of sweat appeared on top of his nose. Surely this wasn’t the still life that Miss Alperstein had in mind? Arthur knew that all great artists did those sorts of drawings. He’d studied them. Dreamt about them.
‘Hold ze image.’
Clap! Clap!
‘Vakey, vakey vile I show you vot it is.’
Arthur’s eyes — and mouth — flew open in eager anticipation.
He looked at Miss Alperstein. She was holding up a lemon!
Arthur slumped in his seat, deflated. So much for him being the next Rubens!
‘You vill draw zis lemon …’ here Miss Alperstein’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper, ‘in all its splendour. I vant to see every curve.’ Her hand swathed through the air. ‘Every bump. So zat ven I touch your paper …’ an index finger stroked the paper on her desk, ‘it vill shock me to find it flat!’
